Chapter 3.

A Very Special Mathom.

“Glorfindel!”

“Glorfindel!”

“Glorfindel!”

Annoyance, distress, exasperation…Glorfindel was not used to hearing such emotions ringing along with his name. “What happened to the awe, admiration, respect?”

“Lord Glorfindel?

Here, all in one voice, coming from somewhere knee-high. “Oh, yes, the perian, what was his name, now?” he wondered confusedly.

“May I have a word with you, Lord Glorfindel? There are some details that I…”

Elrond’s study was full of people; dwarves mostly, but for some reason Glorfindel’s mind refused to take in its surroundings properly. The perian’s voice sounded strangely muffled in his ears, and he could not understand that feeling of dread…of course, they should not have seen Estel, but still…

“Ooh! You never unsheathe your sword indoors!” Estel’s half-accusing, half-awed voice distracted him from the perian and brought his attention to the thing Mithrandir was holding in his hands.

“Ai, Elentári!” was all he managed, before the weight of memories hit him square with the full force of three ages of the sun, and sent him reeling back to another life.

***

Glorfindel sighed deeply and blinked tiredly. The first rays of Anor were already entering through the wide windows in Elrond’s study, and the birds chirped joyfully among the new leaves, greeting the day.

“Here, my friend, take this….”

Elrond looked terribly guilty and slightly less worried, as he proffered a goblet. Glorfindel looked up from the couch where he was half reclining to his friend’s strained face, and tried to smile reassuringly. They had remained by his side the whole night, Mithrandir and Elrond, and he felt grateful for that. Now, he only needed to unclench one of his fists from the thing he had been clinging to, and drink that down.

“I…I think I need it…” he whispered, forcing a weak smile and taking the goblet with a shaking hand. He gulped a hearty mix of wine and herbs and placed the empty cup on a side table. He risked then a glance down at his lap.

“Glamdring!” he whispered, wonder mixed with pain and incredulity in his voice as he held the sword again. “How can this be?”

“If I had any doubt left - not that I ever doubted your wisdom, Elrond- it was enough to see your face, my friend,” a soft voice chuckled. Glorfindel looked around to see Mithrandir sitting on a chair, wrapped in his grey cloak and holding his pipe in one of his wrinkled hands, piercing him with his knowing glance. For a moment, Glorfindel allowed himself to drown in the deep wisdom that shone there, and to feel soothed by the memory of its ancient source. “We found them…it, in the trolls’ den,” the wizard said more seriously. “They must have plundered one of those orcs’ lairs in the Misty Mountains.”

“Keep it, Mithrandir,” Glorfindel said suddenly, after a stretch of silence. His voice sounded distant, as if it came from afar. He held out the sword that had once belonged to Turgon, son of Fingolfin. “If Elrond agrees, of course. I am sure that his sire would be honoured.” Elrond nodded soberly and, after a brief hesitation, Mithrandir stood to receive the battered scabbard containing the ancient heirloom from lost Gondolin.

“I shall wield it with the greatest reverence,” the wizard promised solemnly, grabbing the jewelled hilt with his two hands and placing it to his heart. “Until the day is come when it is returned to its owner.”

“If such a day ever arrives,” Glorfindel let escape sourly. A sweet laugh echoed then in the room, and it seemed to him as if the silvery bells of Valmar were pealing in the clear air of Imladris.

“Aurë entuluva, Laurefindë, the day shall come again,” the wizard pronounced softly. Glorfindel felt an unknown warmth fill his heart at these words; a fire that rekindled his strength and reminded him of the joyful hope that lay beyond darkness and fear. He smiled in acceptance and closed his eyes briefly, allowing Mithrandir’s words to soak in and wash away the bitterness from his memories.

“It is...It is unbelievable; that such a thing might come to us from the depths of drowned Beleriand…” Glorfindel relaxed against the couch and exhaled deeply after a moment, still looking at the sword in amazement.

“But it is reassuring, isn’t it?” Elrond sighed softly. “I mean,” he explained at his friend’s questioning glance, “it reminds us that we never fought alone; that this war has been going on for long…”

“It had been going on for long before that sword was forged,” Glorfindel pointed out wearily. “And ours is but just another part of it…” he whispered, a pensive look on his face.

“And it also reminds us that other things might unexpectedly come to light,” Mithrandir put in lightly. At the shaken expressions turned to him, the wizard shrugged briefly. “Or also that we must take care of what problems are currently at hand,” he added, casting a meaningful glance at Elrond, “such as breakfast, for instance,” he suggested with a merry chuckle. “I am an old man and I need some sustenance before…”

A soft knock on the door cut Mithrandir’s sentence, and almost at once Erestor entered the study cautiously.

“The dwarves and the perian are already up… I thought you would like to take a bath and have something to eat before departing, Mithrandir,” he offered.

“My thanks, Erestor.” The wizard stood up tiredly and laid the scabbard upon Elrond’s desk. “I have gathered that it is not so common a habit to wander the halls of Imladris carrying a sword, no matter its lineage, so I’ll leave this prized mathom to your kind guard, my friends,” he winked. He bowed briefly, crossed the study at a brisk pace and walked out, closing the door and leaving three slightly embarrassed elves behind him.

“Good job,” Elrond said to Erestor, and there was no hint of irony in his lowered voice. The counsellor, though, chose levity.

“Doesn’t bear mentioning," he waved his hand dismissively."I had the best help, after all… Your sons proved invaluable, as usual.”

Glorfindel glanced from one to another. He was close enough to both to distinguish the signs of guilt, despite the reassuring smiles.

“You needed not make such fuss about… this…” he said, waving around uncertainly.

“It was our pleasure...” Erestor’s smile held a faint trace of mischief.

“I…” Elrond seemed genuinely troubled, though. “It was my fault, Glorfindel. At first I wasn’t sure, and I did not want to check with Mithrandir… so I decided that it would be safer to keep you from them, for just one day, in case they happened to ask you or show the swords to you…Mithrandir told them that you knew some very old tales, and I feared…” Elrond shook his head. “I am sorry. I thought it would be better if you knew about all this when they were away. I… I did not know how to tell you… how you would react,” he whispered.

“Well, now you know, don’t you?” Glorfindel answered, a bit harshly. He resented being treated like a fragile thing.

“Yes, we do; and, let me tell you, I never thought you would swoon...” For some reason, Erestor felt that his insight as the House’s Chief Counsellor was particularly needed that morning.

“I did not. I just…went blank,” Glorfindel groaned, casting a warning look to the playful counsellor. “It was the surprise; after all, I was…”

“…Swept abruptly back to unwanted memories?” Elrond suggested sadly.

“Unexpected.” Glorfindel breathed in deeply and stood upon his feet. He walked steadily to where Elrond stood and put a comforting hand upon his friend’s shoulder. “Let us say unexpected memories. But it will not happen again. I am fine, I seriously am, and I am also very grateful to you, Elrond… to both of you,” he nodded then to Erestor. “You were trying to protect me and I can appreciate that. You were right, in a sense. I had never before been confronted with…a relic like this…it’s all so…vivid…” He sighed, caressing the jewel-hilted sword. “Estel?” he asked all of a sudden, as memories of last night began to return to him.

“Do not worry.” Elrond looked relieved. “Elladan took him to the Hall of Fire, and Erestor took care of the dwarves and the perian. I understand that they had a great time by the river…”

“They were so impressed by your swoon that they did not perceive that a child had fallen from your arms…”

“I did not swoon,” Glorfindel growled menacingly, “and I am pretty sure that I did not let Estel fall…”

“As you say, my friend.” Erestor had a way of courting death, or at least incapacitating injuries, that still managed to unsettle his friends despite the long years of their acquaintance. “Shall we have breakfast with our guests before seeing them off?” the counsellor suggested then casually, holding the door open with an inviting nod.

“I was just… lost in memories,” Glorfindel insisted petulantly, walking past his friends with all dignity.

“For a whole night, yes. I never suspected that you could be so introspective,” Erestor commented teasingly, waving to Elrond and closing the door carefully. “Still, you would have wished you’d swooned, had I allowed the perian to question you,” he said with a playful grin, shepherding his two friends along the corridor.

“Why do you say that?”

“Just ask Elrohir. The perian demanded a full account of the Battle of Fornost and the role of the Periannath there…”

“Oh, but that must have been a painfully short account…”

“How many ways of saying “I am afraid there isn’t much I can tell you about this, Master Perian,” can you think of, Glorfindel?”

“I would have paid to see that!” Elrond cast a grateful smile to his chief counsellor as Glorfindel’s clear laugh rang in the empty passage.

***

After many bows and courteous words, the guests were finally ready to depart. They had received filled packs and waterskins, and wise counsel and good wishes for their adventure. The ponies stamped nervously upon the flagstones in the main yard, eager to be gone, while Thorin expressed yet again his gratitude to the Lord of the House.

“I am most grateful for your generosity, Lord Elrond, and I apologize again for the liberal use that we have made of your cellars.” Catching the fleeting glance between the dark and golden-haired counsellors who flanked Elrond, he bowed again and continued in an even louder voice. “Be certain that it shall not be forgotten. Thorin Oakenshield will make sure that your cellars never lack the finest dwarven ale, in return for yours…and your benevolence,” he proclaimed so that all present could hear it.

“It is very kind of you, Lord Thorin. My House -and my cellars- are always open to you and your people.” Elrond returned the bow to hide his grimace. “May the stars shine upon your path and grant you protection in your journey and beyond,” he continued then more gravely. “Go safely, son of Durin, with the goodwill of the Elves!”

Thorin bowed one last time and turned to mount his pony, reaching briefly to secure a long scabbard across his back. Elrond marked Glorfindel’s curious look and tightened his lips. The second sword had not been discussed; he had not been sure if it had escaped Glorfindel’s notice until that moment, but there was nothing else that could be done about it.

“Be careful, Mithrandir, it is said that dragons are hot-tempered! Do not use that sword in a conversation with Smaug!” Glorfindel was clasping the wizard’s arms in goodbye, his mood as light as usual. Elrond relaxed and looked around, noticing that Erestor had stepped a few paces back and had joined Elladan and Elrohir at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the house. “We shall talk about the cellars later,” Elrond groaned inwardly, casting a quick, menacing glance towards the innocent-looking counsellor.

“I’ll try to remember that,” Mithrandir was laughing at Glorfindel’s advice. “I shall meet you in Lórien before the summer is old, Elrond,” the wizard addressed him then, a serious expression in his wrinkled face. “We must not let this chance pass…”

“I shall depart as soon as I may, Mithrandir,” Elrond answered in a lowered voice, catching Glorfindel’s intrigued expression. Much had been discussed between himself and the wizard in those days, beyond the dwarves’ adventure, and both agreed that the moment was ripe. It had already been, years ago. “I shall make sure that everything is ready when you arrive. I doubt that we could manage it without your help, so…”

“I shall be there, you have my word,” the wizard promised with a wide smile. “The affair in Erebor is a deed for the Little Folk, as your moon-letters suggested,” he added, winking merrily.

“Go, my friend, and may Elbereth shine upon you…and them,” Elrond said, stepping back as a stable hand brought Mithrandir’s horse and the mounted company finally departed, followed by songs and encouragements from the many elves that were assembled along the path.

“Let us hope that Orcrist’s wielder will march to a more fortunate fate than that of its last owner.”

Elrond cast a brief sidelong glance to Glorfindel’s serious face. They were both standing apart from the rest, watching the departing company while carefully studying each other. So, he had recognized the second sword, the one Thorin wielded. Elrond shrugged and finally conceded defeat, his curiosity piqued beyond endurance.

“Whose sword was Orcrist, Glorfindel?” he asked softly. All he knew was that it had been a famed, dreaded blade among Orcs.

“Maeglin’s.” The name came through clenched teeth, but still evenly enough. “He wrought both. Before the Dagor Nirnaeth.”

Elrond opened his mouth, gaped, and closed it silently. After some frantic thought, he chose retaliation.

“Come, we have much to discuss. The White Council will meet in Lórien soon. Curunír has finally agreed.” He patted his friend’s shoulder, turning and starting towards the stairs. “We are going to attack Dol Guldur,” he added almost casually, smiling at Glorfindel’s astonished gasp as both strode to where Erestor and the twins waited. He recovered quickly, though.

“Great. When are we departing?” His seneschal would never admit being caught by surprise, Elrond thought in mild exasperation, pretending that he had not heard his question.

“You let me believe that the dwarves were drinking my wine!” Elrond pointed accusingly at Erestor as soon as they reached the other three. Confronted with a direct charge, the cunning counsellor chose the safest escape route and tried to redirect the conversation.

“Have you seen Elladan’s wound, Elrond?” he asked innocently. “One of his rangers shot him!”

Elrond’s attention snapped to his eldest son. Elladan cast a filthy glance at Erestor and then followed his lead.

“It was nothing, Adar, seriously. And Glorfindel fell from his horse!”

“I did not!” Glorfindel’s voice sounded extremely outraged.

“Did you not, now?” Elrond inquired with exaggerate interest in an amusedly incredulous voice.

“Asfaloth is too intelligent to let anyone fall,” the golden warrior explained haughtily. “We had an argument and he just…dismounted me,” he concluded with a fierce, defiant look. “And they almost shot my company!” he added in just retribution, pointing at the twins.

“It was your fault; you shouldn’t have sneaked up...”

“Peace!” Elrond raised his hand and started climbing the stairs. “It seems I have been missing some reports… Since there is so much I must catch up with, I’d suggest that we all take care of our morning duties and then gather around midday in my study for a goblet of wine. You can update me thoroughly then,” he suggested firmly to the air, knowing that a lively exchange of murderous glances, well-directed jabs and not-so-affectionate epithets was taking place behind his back.

“We would need at least one key for that…” a strained voice pointed out. Erestor was doing his best not to sound sarcastic, Elrond noted with grim approval.

“Is it true that you stole your own keys, Adar?” Elrohir’s amused voice sounded for the first time. Elrond turned around to face the unruly group as they reached the main door.

“The butler and I were, ah –considering different places for their safekeeping,” he informed them sternly. “You were very quiet, Elrohir. It is good to know that at least one of you did not get involved in any kind of mischief…”

“Oh, but he did, he taught Estel silly Dwarf jokes!”

“That was mean, Glorfindel!”

“I know…” Glorfindel’s smirk was unbearable, Elrond thought with a minute wince.

“And he set the perian upon me for the whole dinner, pretending that I was he...”

“Pretending that you were I? Do not be ridiculous Elladan; no one would mistake you for me… everybody can see that I am the fairest and you are…the wisest?” As it was his wont once he got involved in a fray, Elrohir’s enthusiasm was commendable, Elrond thought. “I just thought you two had lots of boring things to tell to each other, you should be grateful...” On the other hand, his youngest son would never be accused of being too subtle, the Lord of the House had to admit as the bunch of powerful elf-lords paraded obediently before him and inside the house, while he held the door open.

“Grateful indeed, I’ll just show you how much,” Elladan sounded exasperated and he had every reason, Elrond agreed as he put his hand into a hidden pouch inside his tunic and produced a key. Erestor received it with a respectful nod and a mischievous grin.

“I’ll be most interested in reading that account of the Battle of Fornost,” Glorfindel chimed in merrily. “I had almost forgotten that the Periannath had been there, after all…”

“Well, don’t worry, you’ll have the chance to add your personal touch when they are back from the Mountain, Glorfindel,” Elladan shot back resentfully. “The perian was eager to talk to you, after all.”

“Yes, and you can ask Mithrandir what mathom means…It sounded a bit disrespectful to my ears, if you want my opinion.”

“Now that you mention Mithrandir, Erestor, could anyone please tell me what exactly were we supposed to keep from the wizard, the dwarves and the perian?”

“Oh, come on, Elrohir...”

Elrond grabbed the front door knob and cast a last look towards the road. The brightly coloured dwarven hoods were still visible in the distance. “It could be worse,” he told himself encouragingly. “I could be out there, headed to confront a dragon, and armed with thirteen dwarves and a perian.” He cast a dubious glance from the arguing lot in his hallway to the now almost invisible party. He shook his head, shrugged resignedly and closed the door with a faint smile upon his face.

"Will you tell us why Dwarves have such long beards, Elrohir?"

"Oh, Adar..."

THE END

Aurë entuluva: “Day shall come again.”Hurin’s words at Serech, where he, together with Huor and the Men of Hithlum, protected Turgon’s rearguard when the Gondolindhrim abandoned the field in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears.

Laurefindë: Glorfindel’s name in Quenya, to go with the rest of the sentence…

A/N:

This piece had been around for some time in the form of a couple of drabbles, notably darker in tone. I always wondered what Glorfindel of Gondolin would have had to say to Gandalf’s carrying around Turgon’s sword…Orcrist’s back story is my invention, though.

Thank-you to those who followed. I hope that you enjoyed this silly tale.